ABOUT JOHN WARREN

*This is a Personal dialogue in which the main character is attempting to hold an interview with himself.

John Warren was born on May 18, 2145 in the city-state of Gotham. Yes, the United States has been doing well as a nation of sub-nations and city states. Well, John was born to a sixteen-year old mother, whose identity is unknown. The same goes for the father, but John has eluded to the fact that he shares the same first name with his father. It’s really odd, because we’ve never heard of John’s parents, yet, before he came forward about his life, he said he was living off his parent’s money. Yet, there is no record of them residing in Gotham. Oh well…

So, John was born in Gotham, attended a Montessori where he first learned that he hated people. The irony of course was that John used to love people a lot. This had to do with the fact that John spent a lot of time at home as a toddler. He never had anyone else he could to talk to, or relate to. Often, he fantasized about what people were really like. This is now an opportune moment for this segment to seg-way into John’s monologue about his childhood:


JOHN WARREN ON CHILDHOOD

Q: What can you recollect about your youth:

JOHN: I can only think of a boy, all by himself, in a room full of toys. My folks didn’t have much money, but they had this idea that buying toys eased the weariness of a child growing up in poverty. I guess you can say that’s how I learned to rely on material things for solace. You see, my mother only showed me love when it was convenient for her. If it could be done any time after the ten o’ clock game show, or before the noon soap opera, then it was ok…unless she finds something else to watch on television. Oh, she went on spiels about how she wanted the best for us, just like any other mother in this whacked out society. Of course, the best refers to the “material” best. Love, is no longer the best humans can provide. I guess that was predetermined once we hung that guy on the cross after he told us God only wants us to Love. I might go on a rant right now, but I don’t give a fuck. I got things to say, so you better put down that stupid notebook, with your shit-faced questions, and wipe that God-damned look off your face.!

I was once a tender-hearted creature, full of love, full of compassion. I loved my parents because that’s what I was told to do. So, I loved them with all my heart, never getting any love or appreciation in return. My dad always came home tired and pissed. My mom divided her day between television and household errands. Now, the errands need to get done, but that woman seldom took her eyes off of that television screen. Like a sag of shoveled shit, she sat there, watching those “reality” shows where people lost weight, or had their homes re-modeled, or had the change to fulfill their dreams, all at the same time being as well as being sponsored by Apex communications which supports slave labor sweat shops in Panama! And her son! Me, I sat there by her side, waiting for her to give me attention! I was dreaming…

At the same time, I thought about life in the world outside. I barely went out except to join my mom on grocery errands. I never saw much, but I always said hi to people. God damn it, they would smile too. Nothing can spur a smile on a grown man than the sight of a toddler bidding “Good Morning” to all. As if all was right with the world. And it was, for the time before I was sent into Kindergarten. By that time, I had grown content with my fantasy about the world. At the same time, I wanted to meet other people, and this was probably my naiveté, but I thought it was going to be wonderful.

One morning, which I will never forget, my mother woke me up around seven. Before I could think twice, I was being dragged to the bathroom. My mother was helping me brush my teeth, and before I could turn to look at her, she had run off to my bedroom. I ran back, and she grabbed me, putting clothes on me, and I was then shuttled to the car, with the engine running already. We were on the move as soon as she got back, and I saw the small lower roofed tenements giving way to the taller, more imposing office towers of mid-Gotham. We pulled up in front of one big building where other kids my age where being escorted in by their parents. I was whisked inside and pushed into a room with colorful chairs and rugs filled with toys. I turned around and saw my mother leave. I looked up, and a stranger came up to me, greeting me by my name, It was my first day in school, and I hated it ever since.

I was enrolled at the Ayn Rand Montessori for five years. Most of the teachers I had were fairly nice, yet none were able to work with me properly. Until I was eight, I never understood the concept of schooling. Often, I sat on the rug while the teacher lectured thinking about other stuff. I was usually thinking about animals, trains, those cool pictures of the distant wars in the encyclopedia. Then, the teacher asked me a question, and I never was able to give her an answer. I didn’t think much of it then. But, by the time school was over, I spent the entire commute home listening to my mother rant on about how I was wasting her time.

In terms of what else happened at the Montessori, well most of the kids were smart, but smart as in “smart-ass.” They all knew things I didn’t know, and they often chastised me for it. At the same time, they had attained substantial amounts of knowledge about sexual reproduction, and often teased me for my lack of knowledge on the subject. No, I wasn’t teased, I was tortured. I was even mocked for being labeled as a homosexual. Children can be cruel, but these rats were the product of a society that needed to be destroyed. They, like me, had parents who seldom gave them real love, but quenched their yearnings with mass amounts of material goods, as well as privileges to see and hear things their innocent minds should not have been exposed to, and here I was…trying to find a way out.

I found my way out, I learned to draw. It strated with simple replications of everyday items, but it grew into a world I can escape to. A world where I was boss, and everything was created in to my likeness. In this world, beautiful things happen, terrible things happen, but it’s all laid out on the white paper that my charcoal pencil dances upon. It’s in this world I learned to make escapes from the hellish world I lived in. Yet, this was also the world for people to get to know the real John Warren. It was, by entering this world, that I officially ended my childhood as John Warren, the son of Gloria Warren, and entered a new world as John Warren the artist.

Unfortunately, this world did little to ease my pain of daily afflictions. By now, my parents were more unhappy with each other than ever, I had a sister who had grown from a baby to a loud-mouthed demon, and an array of family members who made it obvious that they were displeased with me. None of these things would change, except for the fact that we all got older. A year ago, I finally decided I was going to leave my family for good, I really do hate them…God says to love your family, but I don’t think God would like the families that harbor children today. I’m surprised God hasn’t already destroyed the earth. He needs to get cracking…I really don’t like this format in discussion. Go suck a big fatty, you should be ashamed with yourself of wanting to sink your fangs into people’s personal lives just to make a quick buck. If I can give you any words of adivice, it would be to go to the top of the tallest building in Gotham, and throw yourself from the top because you have lost your right to live. Same as with the rest of humanity…

And may God forgive us all, or are you really up there, or am I just wasting my time…

…no, you’re really up there, just tell me when you can finally make this all stop, and give me the life I deserve…

Sincerely,

John Warren.